Heads Will Roll
by SoulshadowDiamond
Summary: A short and satirical look at the changes made in the Lord of the Rings movies... This is why you should never let anyone make a movie of anything you had something to do with. Or at least plead ignorance if you do.


"Heads Will Roll"  
  
(Or, "Why You Should Never Let Anyone Make A Movie Of Anything You Had Something To Do With, And If You Do, Do NOT Write To The Director Pleading For Some Creative License Because You Want A Bigger Part Or To Get Rid Of Someone Who Annoys You")  
  
A Short and Satirical Look at the Changes made in the Lord of the Rings Movies...  
  
(Characters, places etc belong to the wonderful Tolkien, not moi, unfortunately).  
  
~:*:~  
  
"ELROND!!!"  
  
The Lord of Imladris fought the urge to hide under his desk as the door to his office swung back on its hinges and hit the wall with an almighty crash. Glorfindel getting pissed off was a Very Rare Occurrence, Elrond had discovered, and a Very Bad Thing when it happened. "Yes?" he said calmly, attempting to diffuse the frankly stunning blonde standing before him, fuming like a Zulu warrior on a *really* bad day. Life was so unfair: some people looked good even when they were stotting off the walls in fury.  
  
"I want a word with you!"  
  
"I can see that. Would you care to take a seat?"  
  
Glorfindel stopped mid-rant, blinked for a moment, and obligingly sat down, calming slightly in the process. Still, he sounded pretty annoyed when he began, "Your *daughter*--"  
  
Elrond sighed theatrically. "Oh, she hasn't been 'borrowing' your circlet again, has she? I *told* her burnished gold wouldn't go with her complexion, but she wouldn't listen...Arwen never listens to me any more. Don't worry, I'll get it back from her."  
  
"I don't care even if she *has* stolen my circlet! She stole my ROLE!!"  
  
Elrond paused a moment to work this one out. "She...all right, sorry, I'm going to have to ask you to go through that one again. She did what?"  
  
"She stole my role."  
  
"Your role in *what*?"  
  
"In the Flight to the Ford."  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
Glorfindel took the opportunity to sigh theatrically himself. "Look, Peredhil-lord. Remember we got a letter a couple of years back, signed by a lot of lawyers and some mortal Dwarf-type person calling himself Peter Jackson, asking if they could dramatise the saving-the-world destruction-of-the-Ring thing?"  
  
"Yes, I remember, I saved the letter in case there was ever any legal bother with it."  
  
"Well, get it out, because I want to sue them for every multi-million pound they made off the box-office smash-hit they *made up* and called The Lord of the Rings. Tell me *who* rode out and found Estel and the hobbits and saved Frodo's life?"  
  
Elrond decided the best thing to do with a homicidal Balrog-slayer is humour him, and so answered politely, "That would be you, on Asfaloth."  
  
"Precisely!" Glorfindel stood up again and swept around dramatically for a bit, before remembering Elrond had practically copyrighted dramatic sweeping around and stopped before he had his own lawsuit on his hands. "Only in the *movie*, they had Arwen doing it! ARWEN! I ask you! AND on my horse!!"  
  
"*Arwen*?!"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"Well, I suppose it's just possible that she didn't agree to it, it could have been this Jackson's idea..."  
  
"Did she heck as like not agree to it. I found a copy of a letter she sent them -- look at this!"  
  
Elrond took the parchment he was being offered and read it silently. When he was done, he looked up, righteous anger flashing in his eyes. (Metaphorically. No neon signs behind the irises. Neon signs aren't invented yet, come to it). "*What* does she mean by 'women's rights' and 'downtrodden but still powerful female character'? And would you like to kill her, or shall I, for saying you're 'not an important plot device'!!?"  
  
"We could go halfies?"  
  
"*Right*."  
  
Elrond folded back the sleeves of his robe (since there was three yards of material in each sleeve, this took a bit of time, but he got there in the end) and started towards the door, which had slowly swung shut again. As he reached to open it, though, it crashed back again, and the startled Lord of Imladris leapt out of the way rather than be flattened against the wall.  
  
"I want a *word* with you, Elrond bloody Peredhil!!"  
  
"Haldir?" Elrond blinked. "Aren't you supposed to be in Lórien?"  
  
"I'm supposed to be *dead*, according to you! Here," the annoyed (understatement of the millennium) Marchwarden poked Elrond in the chest with a rolled-up parchment scroll. "What's all this about 'bloody annoying anyway', 'posh sod', 'not an important plot device'? Co-signed Galadriel of the Golden Wood and, let me think now, Elrond Peredhil Lord of Imladris?? Thanks a lot! I mean, I work my rock-solid sexy little arse off keeping The Enemy out of the last great Elven stronghold (not counting here, because you actually let Dwarves in willingly), and what do I get in return? *Killed*!! *Valar*, you people make me sick sometimes!" Noticing Glorfindel for the first time, Haldir paused and nodded a curt greeting to him. "C'mon, Glory, I heard what happened to your part. Hey, at least you're not dead. Chin up, let's go  
  
fight the establishment together; we can kill the bastards that did that to us."  
  
"That would be, uhm, Arwen, and in your case apparently, er, Elrond. Who happens to be my *lord*." Glorfindel, his previous rant now long since over, glanced at Elrond. He may have been a pretty hard taskmaster, annoying at times, overly dramatic and drop-dead gorgeous when he did The Eyebrow Thing, but Glorfindel still didn't intend to go around *killing* him. Now Arwen was a different matter...  
  
Haldir, oblivious to this, harrumphed dismissively. "What*ever*. Galadriel happens to be my *Lady*, so nyeh. Come on, anyway. We can go and kill the *mortal* bastards that did that to us, if you're squeamish about Elf-lord-and-lady-icide. Got a bow?"  
  
"In my study. I'll go and get it." Glorfindel shrugged apologetically at Elrond and sidled out of the door. "Er...sorry, Elrond...I guess Arwen wasn't the only one who wrote to that Jackson fellow, eh?"  
  
"Not the only one?!" Haldir spat, following Glorfindel out at a more determined pace. "Not the bloody only one? HE got her the address!!"  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The End...Perhaps  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Notes: I wrote this pretty quickly for a friend. It wasn't properly proofed so any mistakes in it are mine completely. And it wasn't meant as a jab at anyone or anything -- I *love* Elrond, I really do. Although I will admit to not much liking Arwen. I doubt there's going to be more, but if you liked it -- or even if you didn't -- and you've got a minute spare, you might drop me a review? =D 


End file.
